Avi and Natasha

(Avi giving me a tour, Jodhpur, 7:30PM)

There are quite a few interesting people I've met at the guesthouse, with its cycling residents from across the globe. Of this motley crew of sorts I met Natasha and her husband Avi. When they invited me to their home (just 30km outside of Jodhpur, they were having renovations done), I was a bit hasty in giving an affirmative response. Boy, I did not have a clue what kind of adventure awaited.

By the time we stepped into Avi's AC car, with deeply tinted windows and no mirrors, I had known that he was an army officer. But after we drove around Jodhpur picking up the best food items they could think of: their favorite pav bhaji, authentic punjabi dhaba dal and naan from near the railway station, rajasthani sweets, veg. sandwiches, cheese, bread, and other protein rich foods-- Avi started to speak about his job.

Into the night, he bagan to take a confessional tone. Explaining to me, in quite possibly the humblest way he could, his personal history. The son of a Bengali professor of English his language was immaculate, and he carefully explained the prestige of the Indian army. He was a top graduate of IMA-in Dehradun. An overacheiver in officers school and a member of the elite Black Cat Commandos he served in the Kargil conflict. He began to explain the horrors of war: the pain of killing, the starvation, the climate, the internal moral struggle. He had killed over 100 people, been shot four times, and his body was studded with shrapnel-- all in the name of duty to country--by the age of 30. This guy was, please excuse my language, a certified badass.

I was nervous when he told me not to speak a word of English if anyone asked me anything at the base and to undo a button and act Gujarati (I'm still not sure if he was joking). And when I began to have a few doubts about the validity of his stories, we pulled into the Army base outside of Jodhpur, flickering with red lights embedded into the road, and reached his house where he quietly and reluctantly showed me his medals, certificates, diplomas, awards, and scars. On the outside he is a clean cut, teetotaler, who is soft spoken and kind.



Natasha, a native of Punjab, had an interesting story herself (which also in a teary confessional, was much different than the one she'd told me at the guesthouse). She was raised practically illiterate as a prize bride of her father's desires. She had been beaten (implied rape) severely by her family and practically thrown on the street in the name of caste. When Avi met her, broken nose and bruised, he nursed her to health and taught her English. She's tall, fair, quite beautiful and has a very generous caring heart. She's changed her name now, but after talking and dinner and sharing stories, she finally told me her real one.

Now that they are settled and happy, Natasha has started a dog breeding business. Avi wants out of the army to continue a career in Shooting. He studies under a former world record holder and is training for the 2016 Olympics. He has a lot of gold medals himself. The precision, focus, and meditative nature of the practice suits him. It lets him quiet the chaotic battle between internal and external forces.

So after a huge feast, a lot of talking, a bit of shooting, and a stay at the animal house (6 rollicking dogs, a squirrel, a dove, and a turtle), I asked to be taken back. I realized, when seeing how sad they were when we left that these were two people trying to make the best of their lives. Ridiculously alienated by their individual pasts and sense of duty to culture they cling to any semblance of normalcy--and deeply feel the desire for freinds. So what if they were a bit too nice? In a sense it was therapeutic for them to wear sweatpants on a Saturday, wake up late and joke around. Sing songs, watch movies, and talk about life. They will be friends for a long time, I think.


(He hit the closest to the bulls-eye, my shots are the top two)